


Trapped

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: Resi is hiding from the Trapper but she will have to come out sooner or later...





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Written for someone on Tumblr who loves the Trapper too.

She'd seen him catch Dwight: Seen him throw him over his shoulder like a slab of meat and carry him away while she hid, crouched in the bush with both hands clamped over her mouth to stifle the sound of her frightened gasps.

She hated herself for not doing anything to help; hated herself for watching as the Trapper hit Dwight with one swing of the crude blade he brandished, pausing to wipe the blood from his weapon on his arm as Dwight tried to limp away. A second swing at close range had put Dwight onto the ground, and then the Trapper had him.

But what could she have done?

Dwight wasn't a big guy. She wasn't a big girl. She stood about as much chance as he did, and she'd seen what had happened to him…..

Better to hide. Better to wait.

She could hear the others, their cries of horror drifting over to where she was, but she didn't go to join them. She could tell by their exclamations of disgust that they'd discovered what the Trapper had done to Dwight, and she'd already seen what the monster was capable of. No need for her to see again.

_ “Oh my God! Get him down!” _

_ “It's stuck right in his back oh sweet Jesus…” _

_ “Grab his legs!” _

She clenched her fists helplessly.

_ Shut up!  _ she willed them silently.  _ He'll hear you! _

They made her angry with their commotion, but that was down to her own guilt. They were trying. They were doing something.

She had already decided to stay where she was.

It wasn’t the best plan, but it beat going out there and getting slaughtered. She’d witnessed two deaths already - violent, unnecessary ones that had made her puke into the bushes as she’d scrambled away on her hands and knees. The bodies, writhing on the hooks buried deep into them. She could only think of them as bodies: Giving them their names - Jake and David - would only have made it worse. Think of them as meat. Think of them as sides of beef hung up in a warehouse….

Don't think of what had happened to them. That... _ thing... _ the giant claws...it had nearly sent her out of her mind.

There were screams now. He'd heard them, as predicted, and they were scattering, spreading out to draw him away whilst one remained trying to help Dwight. Who would he choose? Which one would attract his attention enough for him to pursue? The biggest? The loudest? The fastest? 

She balled her fists against her mouth and closed her eyes and her mind.

 

They'd gotten two of the generators working. Good. If they kept this up she'd be able to escape. She'd get help, she told herself. She'd tell people, bring back an army! She would.

She knew she'd have to move soon, if only to get closer to the exit, but she didn't want to. She felt safe here, almost cosy, far away from the trauma of the other survivors.

There was a shrill scream nearby, female, and she tried not to wonder who it was. It sounded like Meg.

_ Shut up, Meg,  _ said her mind in Peter Griffin’s voice.

Was Meg caught in a trap? She was too close for comfort if she was. Time to move.

She cursed Meg silently.

_ Thanks a lot, bitch. Way to draw him over here! _

She hated herself for her sentiments, but at that moment she hated Meg more.

She started to crawl as silently as she could, steeling herself to break cover whilst the Trapper was occupied with Meg. It was probably just the motivation she needed, she realised, but she still felt resentful.

She moved close to the ground, forcing herself to be slow and cautious: He seemed to sense fast movement. There were noises coming from behind her, rough grunts and panting that sounded almost sexual, somehow louder than Megs pathetic wails.

She tried to blot them out, the skin on her back tingling from exposure as she left the sanctuary of her bush.

_ Just go, don't look back. Just go, don't look back. Just go, don't - _

The swish of grass right by her, and she nearly screamed, but it was only Claudette, running past her towards Meg with her flashlight raised.

“Put her down!” screamed Claudette.

She risked a glance behind her just long enough to see Claudette run up to the giant man, shining her flashlight into his face.

Another distraction. Good good good.

 

There was a locker up ahead, a tall thing made of wood and metal, the paint on it a scarred red. It looked like an obvious place to hide.  _ Too _ obvious. But needs must when the devil drives.

She crept towards it, ready to use it if necessary.

It smelled like old blood, a half-rotten aroma of shit and copper. She wrinkled her nose. The thought of going in there and shutting the door on herself horrendous. She turned away. There had to be better places.

There were buildings dotted around - at least, the  _ remains _ of buildings, roofless and open to the elements, but she didn't like the look of those either. Shelter-wise they were a poor substitute for her bush.

_ Damn you, Meg!  _ she thought again helplessly.

She craned her neck, trying to see past the pallets and rocks in her eyeline. There was some sort of large vehicle not far away with a grabby arm at the front - mining machinery, she assumed - and it was fair to assume it would have some kind of cabin for the operator to sit in.

With one last scan of the surrounding area she began to creep towards it.

She was only a quarter of the way there when she felt it: A buildup of terror that began queasily in the pit of her stomach and proceeded to claw its way up into her chest.

The feeling in itself was understandable, but she couldn't comprehend exactly why it had chosen now to manifest with such intensity. She stumbled, her teeth chattering together, staggering sideways into the scarred trunk of a tree.

_ There was someone behind her! _

Whoever it was, they were closing in at tremendous speed, the swish of the long grass parting signalling their approach. She clung to the tree by her side, looking around wildly, and as she was considering which way to dash at that moment someone broke cover to her right, a squealy high-pitched moan tearing from their throat.

It was Meg. Goddam little telltale Meg, advertising their presence once again.

“Oh my god! Resi! Watch out, he's coming!” she gasped.

“Of course he is! You just fucking told him where we are!” said Resi, clenching her hands into fists.

She saw Meg’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open, as she looked at something beyond her shoulder.

“Oh no!”

Without thinking, Resi ducked down, springing in a crouch to her left, and the swinging blade that cut the air with a whistle bit into the tree trunk instead of her, adding another scar to its ragged bark.

There was a frustrated grunt from behind her and she rolled, her elbow hitting something hard and sharp hidden in the grass, and as she started to crawl away she heard Meg’s scream, cutting through the dense air, and the brutal snap of a bear trap closing.

Resi didn't look back. There was nothing she could see that would possibly make her more determined to escape, and the grisly, wet noises coming from behind her were more than enough to keep her going.

Meg’s scream cut off with a gurgle, and Resi felt an incongruous giggle start to bubble up in her throat, forcing its way past the snot and the bile. Meg sounded like Chewbacca.

The giggle turned to a sob before it was even half way out and she snivelled as  she continued to crawl towards the locker.

 

It smelled just as bad as she'd feared, and even as she shut herself in she knew it was a terrible place to hide. She could only hope that the monster who stalked outside would be too preoccupied with Meg to bother seeking her out.

It was suffocating in the locker, the stench filling her lungs and stinging her eyes, and after only a few minutes she was regretting her choice. It the Trapper didn't kill her, the fumes might.

She waited it out, hating her sensory inadequacy. In the bush she'd been able to hear a fair amount and even see some things, but in here she was blind and overwhelmed.

She could hear a little, though: A weird croaking sound coming from above, and she strained her ears to identify the noise.

_ Caw!Caw! _

It was the birds. Huge black feathered things, either crows or ravens - she didn't know which. But she knew there were several of them and as the minutes limped past their numbers grew until she was able to hear the tiny clicks of their claws tapping against the roof.

If she didn't know any better she would think that the birds were aware of her presence and we're alerting the Trapper….

_ Shut up!  _ she hissed in her mind.

First Meg and now the birds! She trembled, her feet shuffling on the gummy stickiness of the floor.

_ Go away! _

The  _ caws _ increased in volume, a tumult that made her wish for deafness and promised to send her out of her mind, and the door opened, sweeping a gust of fresh night air into the tiny space. But there was no light, though, not even from the pallid moon overhead, because the doorway was blocked by the bulk of the Trapper.

 

Her mind seized up then, floating away as though it wanted nothing to do with the horror, and she felt the strength leave her legs, threatening to spill her onto the fetid ground.

He was leaning in, the hand not carrying the cleaver reaching towards her, and she was powerless to evade it.

He gripped the front of her blouse, fisting the fabric in one massive hand, and pulled her forward with stupefying ease, her soles scraping without purchase, her arms dangling limp at her sides.

He had her. He had her and she had no energy, no flashlight, no companion to save her.

He hauled her out, dragging her on stuttering feet into the open, and she moaned as her vision cleared.  He was even bigger up close than he'd seemed before: A huge mountain of a man, all brawn and scars stuffed into a pair of bib overalls. His face was concealed behind a crude mask, eyes glinting through irregular holes, the lower part split by a rough facsimile of a mouth filled with jagged, uneven teeth that grinned at her.

He smelled like Death: Copper and sweat and the musk of insanity oozing from his pores, his breath huffing excitedly through the gap in the mask.

She couldn't close her eyes against the sight: The dull gleam of his bare shoulders reflecting the moon’s paltry light almost dazzling her; the glitter of his eyes dancing behind the dirty white of the mask almost hypnotising her, and she fell into a feverish half-swoon.

He was magnificent.

To her surprise, he studied her for a moment, tilting his head to one side and then releasing her, loosing his grip on her shirt. Despite her sudden freedom, she couldn't run, just stand and stare.

There was something dark on the bib of his overalls, a gout of some liquid that looked black in the moonlight, and he flattened his hand against it, pulling his palm across his chest and then extending it to show her.

It was blood. Meg’s blood. It would have been gaudy in the daylight but it's glisten still held power for all its muted horror.

She couldn't tell if he was accusing her -  _ Look at what you did!  _ \- or congratulating her -  _ Look at what you did! _

Either way, he was acknowledging the part she had played, and she heard a gravelly chuckle rumble through his chest.

She swayed on her feet, giddy with guilt and fear and a sudden inexplicable arousal.

He was raising his blade, but he paused in the act of cocking it back over his shoulder when she spoke, her words struggling past her numb lips.

“Don't kill me,” she croaked. “I can...I can bring you more.”

He made a faint interrogative noise, an undefined question.

“I can bring you more!” she repeated,  putting more force behind her statement. “More victims. Isn't that what you want?”

He lifted his huge shoulders in a shrug that almost made her laugh. Despite the rigid cruelty of his mask she felt his curiosity, his interest.

“Please….let me!”

In a bid for his approval she stepped forward and put her hand on his chest, fingers squelching in the mess of Meg’s blood. His breath crackled behind his ribs, the vibration grumbling through her wrist, and he seemed to be considering her offer.

She tilted her head back to gaze up at him as he towered over her, her heady mix of fear and excitement prickling goosebumps on her skin, puckering her nipples to stiff points.

Danger and horror had always been a kink of hers, something that had always caused her parents much grief and gotten her into too many sticky situations, but this was the ultimate experience. She had never been as close to death as she was now.

The Trapper appeared to reach a decision and stooped, winding one thick arm around her waist. Her feet left the ground and she was hoisted into the air.

“No! Please!”

She put her hands out and pushed at him. It was like shoving at one of the big rocks that dotted the estate.

Twisting helplessly she looked over her shoulder as he began to walk, his long strides carrying them to where one of the hooks hung, it's point crusted with gore.

“No! Why won't you let me help you?”

She could smell the blood now, it's metallic notes strong, and underlying that the sharp smell of piss. Of course his victims pissed themselves stuck on those hooks as that thing with the claws tore erupted all around them. Of course.

She kicked out with her feet, encountering the solid mass of his thighs, but it had little effect. He was lifting her, raising her towards the hook with inexorable certainty and she thrashed in his grasp, waiting for the agony of the point entering her.

It never came.

Instead she felt the curve of the hook against her spine, burrowing under her shirt, picking up the clasp of her bra along the way.

She squawked, and he laughed again, a dirty chuckle deep in his chest.

“What are you doing?” she bleated.

He tested her weight on the hook then let her go. She felt her blouse snag up tight under her arms, her bra cinching painfully around her ribs before slipping upwards, pinching the undersides of her breasts.

“Ow!” she complained.

He put his hand against her belly and pushed, setting her swinging, and her feet pedalled, trying to find the ground and claw back some control, but she hung suspended in midair, the buttons of her blouse straining.

“It hurts!”

He nodded in apparent satisfaction and made a gesture with his hand, putting it palm up and pushing it upwards agitatedly.

“What? I don't understand!”

He repeated the movement, grunting with frustration, and when she still didn't respond he shook his head and used his blade.

She screamed as it slid against the flesh of her forearm, the nicked edge grating a shallow cut and she clutched at it, blood trickling between her fingers.

He nodded, pleased with her response, raising his cleaver again and motioning towards her dangling legs. This time she screamed before he made contact, thrashing her legs away from him.

He nodded once more, growling through the ragged mouth slit in the mask, and she finally got the idea: He wanted her to make a fuss.

She obliged, shouting out into the darkness. It wasn't hard, given her terror.

“Help!  _ Help! _ He's got me!”

He took a few steps back, retreating into the shadows as voices began to respond, dotting the surroundings, drifting towards her.

_ “Who is it?” _

_ “It's Resi!” _

_ “Is she on a hook?” _

_ “Quickly!” _

The Trapper lurked, sidling behind a tree, and she screeched through her guilt, tearing it apart with her voice and her desire to live.

 

It was brutal.

Resi closed her eyes as the blade rose and fell, slashing and tearing through the ones who came to rescue her. The first responders were cut down before they had chance to react, although the ones behind fled when they saw what was happening.

She ducked her head, weeping at the destruction. She still had no idea whether he would let her live after this, but for the time being all she could do was hang there whilst the blood splattered around her.

One of the buttons on her blouse popped off, revealing a slice of midriff and the remaining ones struggled to pick up the slack.

The Trapper took full advantage of the confusion, picking off the scattering survivors, chasing after the ones who escaped and for a while Resi swung and sobbed at the screams reverberating through the estate, exploding from the darkness here and there like bursts of fireworks.

 

They were dead. All of them. Only she remained.

The Trapper returned, his mask daubed with blood, his arms and shoulders bearing proud spatters.

Another two buttons had come off, baring her up to her ribs, and the seams under her arms were starting to tear.

He stood in front of her, his expression unknowable beyond the permanent grin of the mask. She didn't know if he was admiring a trophy and savouring the moment before slaughter or considering his next course of action.

“Please….what are you going to do?” she asked.

He took a step closer and she watched the hang of his right arm, waiting for the muscle to tense, waiting for the fatal blow.

Instead it was his left arm that moved, the bicep bunching as he lifted his hand and tentatively placed it on the naked expanse of her belly. His palm was rough and gooey with blood and he dragged callused fingers over her navel as if testing her softness.

He made a noise in his throat that she couldn't translate, but it was softer than his other grunts and growls had been.

She shuddered, the goosebumps back again, and he poked at her abdomen, reading the raised pimples like they were braille.

With a sudden decisive jerk he clutched her hip, pulling her towards him, and she gasped as his tongue protruded from the slot of the mask, scraping past the vicious teeth to touch her belly. It was hot yet oddly dry, and he licked at the blood he'd smeared there, tracing the pattern left by his fingers.

She stayed very still, partly from wanting him to continue and partly from the lingering fear that he would still kill her. The teeth in his mask grazed her skin in a dangerous counterpoint to the soft loll of his curled tongue. She tingled where he  touched, sharp and hard, blunt and squishy, his fingers burning a brand in her side.

He smacked his lips behind the mask and she caught a glimpse of the wet inside of his mouth.

He dropped the crude blade he held, and it's point stuck into the soft ground, standing upright and vibrating gently. Both hands crept under the hem of her skirt, rough fingers plucking at the elastic of her panties, pulling the gusset aside to get to her flesh, and the pair of them groaned in unison as he found what he sought. Resi held her breath, feeling the delve of his digits, the intrusive probe she shouldn't want, but her body responded without consulting the rest of her. He crept into the narrow crevices, coating his fingers in her, tamping the hollow of her pussy. She sucked in her breath as she felt his hands crawl over her, peeling the cloth of her panties away from her, dragging them down her thighs. 

He was panting, an animal sound that made her body respond with a flood that trickled down the insides of her legs. Another button gave way, opening her blouse a further degree as he tugged her underwear off her ankles. She sagged on the hook, feeling her blouse rip a little more under the arms. Much more and she would fall...

He lifted the hem of her skirt, ducking his head under and sniffing in the tent of fabric, damp breath heating her legs. She was exposed yet covered, her pussy twitching at each little waft.

She felt his muscular tongue creep along the inside of her leg, drifting upwards. She clenched her teeth as its tip brushed her clit, prodding it ruthlessly. Getting a taste seemed to spur him on and he pressed his face closer. She could feel the mask press it's imprint onto her thighs as he grappled with her, grasping her legs and levering them further apart, slinging them over his shoulders.

She twitched and twisted on her hook, anchored by her legs, clamped to his face. He was lapping at the juices she exuded, licking up each little drop from the source and following its trail, down, then back up to her cunt. Her breath hitched in her chest as he muttered something incomprehensible into her flesh then plunged his tongue into her.

Resi bucked her hips at the intrusion, flailing madly in an attempt to regain some control but his fingers bit into her thighs, holding her fast. He stuck his tongue deeper, flicking it against her walls, and she clenched her legs around his head feverishly.

She was aware of him fumbling at his chest, and looked down in time to see him release the buckles that held his overalls up at the bib. The greasy cloth fell down his body to his ankles, puddling around his boots and exposing him: Rippling muscles layered under skin hashmarked with scars; a rampant, uncut cock sticking out from his body at an angle like a tree branch. She moaned, letting her weight sag on the hook.

The rough hands that had splayed her thighs moved to the meat of her ass, kneading the flesh there, groping for purchase on skin made slippery with sweat. She wriggled her crotch against his mask.

“Do it!” she said, aware she was in no position to issue demands yet wanting to leave him in no doubt.

He let her legs drop, the pressure from her blouse and bra becoming unbearable again for a second, biting into her.

He shifted against her, the tip of his monstrous cock tapping the inside of her knee. He couldn't reach - big as he was,  she was too high up.  He realised as much at the same time she did, and snarled, using the handles of her hip bones to pull her down.

Her blouse tore in a final surrender, ripping apart, her bra snapping with a pronounced twang. She was falling, legs thrashing, but he was catching her, clasping her against him. She had a mere moment to gather her wits before he allowed her to slide and she slipped down his abdomen onto the proud jut of his dick.

Anything she'd meant to utter deserted her in a flood as she came to rest, her pussy splitting open in a rush to accept the fleshy bar as she plunged down onto him. She grabbed frantically at his straining shoulders as she was impaled. It stole the breath from her lungs, a rigid spear poking at her cunt and stabbing to her core before she'd even processed it. Wet as she was it didn't hurt but her it took a second for her mind to catch up with events. He was in her, right up to the hilt, and sudden stab inside her wasn't pain but pleasure.

“Oh shit!” she gasped.

Her feet groped for some kind of purchase but the Trapper was far too tall and her soles met nothing. He grunted at her efforts, cradling her waist, and lifted her up. She groaned in disappointment as his dick inched out of her, but she didn't have long to suffer. He let her drop again, her weight smacking her back down and she felt some shift within her as the tip of his prick shunted against her cervix.

He was mumbling, making satisfied little noises as he stripped the remains of her blouse from her, shredding the last of the seams. She let go of his shoulders to lift her bra, flipping the cups up and mashing herself against him. His skin was hot, coated with sweat and stippled with blood that had seeped inside his overalls. Her legs swung loose as he lifted and dropped her again and she struggled to wrangle them up and wrap them round him to no avail: Each lurch of his thrusts knocked them down again. She gave in and let him take over, manipulating her, fitting her over the end of his cock like a floppy rag doll. Her jaw juddered as he fucked her, the clattering loud in her head, the chafe of his chest against her nipples rubbing her raw.

His blood-dripped mask hung above her, droplets springing off and showering little spackles onto her. She bared her teeth in an imitation of the rigid rictus that split it apart, grinning back at him.

He tilted her back, skewing the angle, and her spine arched, head falling back. The moon stared down without judgement, crows sketching fluttering paths back and forth in the sky. Her pussy felt hollowed out, gaping, and she screamed at the next stab of him inside her, hitting a point somewhere deep that she hadn't known existed.

He was near cumming, she feel it in the shortened, frantic shoves he was giving, speeding up, growling a hoarse swan song. She concentrated, focusing on the climax that was building into a crescendo, coiling in her belly like a spring. She saw his shoulders hunch, felt the pulse of his cock pump inside her, and he fell onto his knees, her back hitting the damp ground.

They were all dead, she reminded herself as a hook swung into view, framed against the constellations that hung above her. All dead because of her: Dwight, her boyfriend. Meg, the girl he'd been fucking for months. Claudette, that smart bitch who’d gotten the job she’d applied for. Quentin who'd let the door slam in her face in front of everyone a while back and hadn't even apologised. She'd even managed to track down Jake, the one who’d ripped the head off her favourite doll when she was 8….

They'd all displeased her. All done something to earn their place there, and if the Trapper let her live there were legions to take their vacated spot. Just let him give her the chance….

And to think she'd felt guilty at first.


End file.
